


IV What do you do when the gold is gone?

by salem_student



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salem_student/pseuds/salem_student
Summary: Just some fluff and smut about growing old together at the mosaic
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40
Collections: Seven Times Quentin gave Eliot that Good Dick





	IV What do you do when the gold is gone?

“You’re sure this won’t make my hair fall out?” Quentin asks, eyeing up the bowl of greenish goop. It’s bubbling and smells exactly like what you would imagine a mixture of alcohol and swamp plants to smell like. Eliot raises his eyebrows and herds the smaller man towards the bathtub.

“God forbid you’re old and bald,” Eliot says playfully as Quentin sits in the bath, fully clothed. Eliot shakes his head, “Babe, we are not ruining your only white shirt with dubious fillorien hair-dye.” Quentin sulks but takes off his shirt and after a moment’s hesitation, his trousers and underwear - he really doesn’t fancy making this embarrassment worse by having to sit in a bath in soggy underwear. Eliot passes him a towel. “ So I don’t have to see your grey pubes.” 

Quentin slaps his arm playfully “ I do not have grey pubes!” 

“Oh honey, we both know it’s only a matter of time.” Eliot pulls Quentin’s hair aside and leans down to kiss his neck, “ and as I said earlier, I will love you no matter how grey your hair gets,” he says softly into his ear, then sits down on a stool.

“You’ll even love me if it falls out?” Quentin asks, craning his neck around to look at Eliot. He’s playing this off as joking, but Eliot can tell by the crease in his forehead that somehow he still thinks Eliot will run off to a younger man. 

Eliot boops his nose and slides his hand into Quentin’s soft hair. He gives it a gentle tug, “Hmm, we’ll see how pretty your head is,” he says with a smile. Eliot leans in and places a kiss on Quentin’s lips, then gently guides him back to face forward. “ I promise I will at least tolerate you when you’re bald.” 

Quentin laughs at that and Eliot is happy to see him relax a little. “ I never said I was definitely going to go bald.” 

“Well, now you know you can. I, on the other hand, intend on disappearing into the woods to die like a cat the minute my hair looks less than pristine.” 

Quentin cranes his head back to make eye contact with Eliot, “You know I won’t let you do that.” 

“You’ll have to find me, and I don’t think you’ll be able to recognise me with bad hair.” 

“It is your defining feature.” 

“Mmhmm, now keep still.” Quentin faces the taps again and sinks down a little in the bath as Eliot sets up an egg timer and turns his attention to applying the dye.

Quentin was being really dramatic, Eliot thinks as he massages the goop into Quentin’s roots. He only has a smattering of grey roots, although Eliot is sure he’s been pulling them out whenever he saw them until there were too many to pull. If anything, Eliot is sure the other man would look distinguished with grey hair; it’s hardly going to make him less attractive - Eliot thinks that somehow Quentin gets more attractive every day, even as his face becomes more lined and the pair of them lose muscle definition. It was like every day he’s growing into his face, wearing it in with his personality like a pair of boots. He can’t give up on something that has so perfectly grown to be loved by him, to love him even. Quentin sighs contentedly as Eliot’s strong fingers massage his scalp, the mixture starting to warm up, eking the stress out of Quentin’s body. Unfortunately, the smell does not improve, both men trying to ignore it. Slowly, as Eliot keeps massaging, the mixture starts to harden and to take on the colour of Quentin’s natural hair. Eliot pulls his hands away and Quentin huffs.

“If I keep going I will actually pull your hair out because I will be glued to your head,” Eliot says as he washes his hands. Quentin turns around in the bath, “I don’t think glueing you to me would be such a bad outcome.”

“Honey, we both know you love my hands too much to tolerate them being fused to your scalp.” 

“Maybe, so what now?”

“We wait and then I wash your hair.” 

Quentin smiles at his husband, “Thank you for this.” He turns around so he’s lying on his front, propped up on his elbows. Eliot can’t help but steal a glance at his butt. Quentin catches his eyes and blushes.

“Like I said, I’d love you even if you have grey pubes, but I want you to feel good about yourself.” 

“How could I ever feel bad about myself when I’m married to you?” Eliot chuckles and carefully places his hand on Quentin’s chin. He avoids touching his hair, but he leans in to kiss him. He wants to kiss him deeply, but as soon as the kiss starts he pulls away, his eyes smarting.

“That stuff is foul. How are you just okay with the smell?”

“I think my nose has stopped working.” Quentin pouts at Eliot and makes grabby hands for his face. “Come on, I thought you’d love me no matter what”

“I can love you and think you smell bad.” 

“You smell bad.” Quentin sticks his tongue out.

“How dare you, I smell fantastic.” 

“Yeah, you do smell pretty great, considering.” Quentin doubles down on his goal to kiss Eliot, who just swats his hands away laughing.

“Hold on, I’ll get some water, try and mask this a bit.“ Quentin pouts and dramatically slumps down in the tub, “ I knew you wouldn’t love me now I’m old.” 

At that, Eliot performs a tut to fill the bath with cold water. Quentin leaps up to his feet, hissing in protest. “Behave,” Eliot says with a smirk, and does the tut to bring the water to the perfect temperature. Soon the heady smell of roses fills the room, making the swampy smell of Quentin’s head slightly more bearable. Quentin picks up the towel that fell into the water when he stood up and Eliot takes the opportunity to check out his butt, Quentin notices and preens a little. When he stands up he throws the towel at Eliot’s chest. “This is your fault,” he says as he settles back down into the comfortably warm bath, “and if you’re not going to kiss me, you’re not allowed to look at my butt.” He attempts to sound as proper as is possible for someone naked with what now looks like a semi-dried cowpat on his head. 

Eliot takes his own, now wet, shirt off and pulls the stool around so he is sitting in front of Q. He keeps his hands on the seat to avoid the temptation to put his hands in Q’s hair and leans forward to kiss him gently. “I’m very sorry,” he says into Q’s mouth. With no such restriction on his own hands, Quentin wraps a hand around Eliot’s neck and pulls him into another, deeper kiss. He smiles against the other man’s lips as Eliot brings a hand onto Quentin’s chest. They break the kiss and look at each other for a moment, both men thinking about how lucky they are. 

The ding of an egg timer breaks the silence. “Time for the big reveal,” Eliot says with a smile, “Budge up” He says as he takes his trousers and underwear off. Quentin is more than a little alarmed for his husband’s dick to suddenly be swinging at near eye level. But Quentin is Quentin, so Eliot finds the head of his cock surrounded by the familiar warm wet of his husband’s mouth. “Ah, Fuck Q. I need to get, ah, that off your hair.” 

Quentin sulkily pulls his head away and Eliot’s dick falls out of his mouth with an obscene pop. Eliot flinches at the sudden cold air against his wet, semi-hard dick. “You’re the one who tempted me,” Quentin says sulkily. 

“If you think I’m not going to get in the bath to wash this stuff off you don’t really know me”

Quentin laughs and shifts forward in the bath to make space for the taller man. Eliot folds himself into the tub, so Quentin is settled between his legs. Eliot fills a cup with warm water .With one hand shielding Quentin’s eyes he pours the water over the hardened hair dye. At contact with the water, it softens and Eliot can start to gently massage it away. 

Quentin’s eyes slide shut as he relaxes into the feeling of Eliot’s strong hands rubbing little circles into his head. He grumbles quietly as Eliot jostles him to reach over for the shampoo. Eliot kisses Quentin’s temple and massages the shampoo into his hair, “See you still have hair, beautiful blonde hair.” 

“You did not bottle blonde me.” Quentin twists around to look at a laughing Eliot in alarm. 

“No baby. Fillory doesn’t really do peroxide, it’s just your natural colour.” 

“So brown?” Eliot snorts but focuses on massaging Quentin’s temples; he’s had enough arguments on the difference between different shades of colour on the mosaic. No need to bring it into their bathroom. Plus Q’s generally okay with just being told he’s beautiful and Eliot has zero problems lavishing the man with compliments. He smiles at the feeling of Quentin letting the weight of his head fall onto Eliot’s hands. It’s like when a dog trusts you enough to fall asleep in your lap, except this dog has anxiety and has to fight through at least 12 layers of shit before it gets even close to sleeping. And also never outgrew it’s puppy phase. Eliot has a fleeting thought of cancer puppy that makes him wince. He shakes the thought away; they’ve got years left before any of that stuff needs to worry them. 

Eliot carefully washes away the shampoo and then leans forward to bury his nose in Quentin’s wet, rose-scented hair. Underneath the shampoo, there’s Quentin’s familiar smell. Warm and woody, masculine but soft. Perfect and all Eliot’s. He feels his face crack into a smile and he kisses the top of Quentin’s head. Quentin mumbles something that Eliot can’t hear and shifts so somehow he’s impossibly closer. Quentin keeps shuffling until Eliot is forced to wrap his arms around Quentin’s chest. He tips his head back and looks up through his eyelashes, sparkling with drops of water. It’s not the neatest of kisses, but neatness becomes far less important the longer they spend together. They’ve had their share of messy, dirty, downright filthy kisses. This is clean, if a bit awkward. Although by the way Quentin is shifting so he’s actually sitting on Eliot’s lap, it won’t stay that way for too much longer. 

Eliot chuckles and squeezes Quentin in a hug. “ You couldn’t wait for the water to get cold before you start flirting?”

“I couldn’t wait for you to wash the dye off my hair before I sucked your dick.” 

“Hmmm, a fair point.” Eliot runs his hands along Quentin’s arms, soft and warm from the water. He leans in to his husband’s ear and bites the lobe gently, revelling in the way he shivers in response. “You’re never going to stop being,” Eliot brings his hand around to Quentin’s pec, his fingernails gently scraping the skin there. “ So — ” Eliot kisses Quentin’s neck. He worries the skin gently between his teeth, drawing a beautiful little hiss from Quentin - tempered by the way Quentin is biting his own lip. “Goddamn,” Eliot laughs and pushes his hips up. With his arms around Quentin’s chest, the smaller man can’t move anywhere but down into the gently rutting of Eliot’s hips. Quentin, of course, has no complaints. “Eager,” Eliot finishes into Quentin’s other ear. He peppers gentle kisses down Quentin’s neck, stopping to suck a deep purple mark into the base of his neck. 

“Mnf, would you want, mmm, me to be?” Quentin manages to say. His voice is breathy, his back flexing as he pushes down against Eliot’s rapidly hardening cock. 

“Definitely not.” Eliot bites down on the flesh of Quentin’s shoulder, making him cry out. They’re rutting against each other like teenagers now; it would be embarrassing if Quentin didn’t have the ability to turn him on so much that any part of his brain concerned with appearances just clocks out. But when it comes to sex, Eliot is nothing but pragmatic, and as lovely as it is to have a slippery, breathy, obscenely attractive man grinding against him, the soapy bathwater is preventing Eliot from getting as much friction as he’d like and he’s pretty sure if he stays in this position any longer he’s going to get a killer leg cramp. “Come on Q, bedroom.” He says, gently slapping Quentin’s hip. 

Quentin laughs, pouts, but stands up. He clambers out of the tub then tugs Eliot out with him. Then somehow Eliot finds himself pinned against the bathroom wall. He laughs against Quentin’s lips; somehow he always forgets how strong Q is. Where Eliot is tall, his muscles stretched out and tense to maintain the equilibrium required to keep him upright - an especially difficult feat considering his proclivity for mind altering substances. Quentin is small, compact, broad shouldered in a way that speaks of a gentle strength, just waiting to be called upon. God he’s hot. Eliot wraps his arms around Quentin’s waist, holding Quentin against him. “This is not the bedroom,” he manages to gasp into Quentin’s mouth, then he forgets all his protests as Quentin wraps his hand around his cock. He strokes it efficiently, his hand curling and tightening around the head, drawing back the foreskin then slowly, so fucking slowly, drawing back down. Then fast up again, thumb brushing against the slit. “Fuck, Q,” Eliot groans into Quentin’s shoulder. 

Eliot tugs his head up to look at him as Quentin pulls his hand away from Eliot’s cock to delicately lick a bead of precom off his thumb. “What?” Quentin asks, his eyes a wide picture of innocence. Fuck, Eliot’s brain feels as s shortcircuited. Then Quentin just about ruins him. He kisses Eliot, deep and dirty, and over far far too soon. Then just an inch away from his mouth, he breathes “I want to fuck you tonight.” 

Eliot manages to gather a tiny bit of composure, he straightens himself up to his full height. “That was my plan, baby boy,” He says, putting on a bit of his old brakebill’s drawl. Quentin just quirks his eyebrows and grabs Eliot’s ass, tugging him closer and grinding against him so their dicks are rubbing tantalisingly against each other - still wet enough from the bath to allow them to slide against each other. Quentin smiles and reaches down with his other hand to hold their cocks together.

“Oh, oh my god,” Eliot gasps, bucking helplessly into the tight circle of Quentin’s fist. Their dicks slide over one another, hot and wet and unh, what was Eliot trying to do again? Be imposing? Eliot Waugh? The man who unironically refers to himself as Daddy and can tempt practically anyone into bed with him? Fuck, right now he can barely remember his own name. 

“No El, I want,” Quentin sucks a dark mark into Eliot’s neck, “to,” another, slightly lower down, “fuck,” he bites at the delicate skin along Eliot’s collarbone. “You.” 

Eliot swallows. “Well you should absolutely do that,” he manages to say with a bit of his usual dignity. Then they’re kissing again, Eliot’s tongue diving into Quentin’s mouth and tasting minty, floral, fillorian toothpaste and Q. Eliot brings his hand up to the nape of Quentin’s neck and threads his fingers through the still damp hair there. He tugs gently, making Quentin pull away from the kiss for just a moment to gasp and then dive back in with a bruising, biting force. It takes a lot of strength for Eliot to gently push away his husband and say firmly, “Bedroom.”

Quentin pouts, but he tugs Eliot to their bed anyway, wasting no time pushing Eliot down onto the bed, “How long have you been thinking about this baby?” 

“Long enough.” Quentin’s nipping along his neck, working his way down his chest, his hand roving across his body. 

“You didn’t say anything sooner?” Eliot’s a little hurt, he doesn’t bottom that often but he doesn’t like the idea of Quentin wanting it and waiting until he was desperate to say anything. 

Quentin laughs, “We have amazing sex like every night El, it’s rare that I get to seduce you--”

“But you can stop me,” Eliot says. Quentin drops his head down and his wet mouth is around Eliot’s nipple, sucking. He darts his tongue out and Eliot feels his back arch and a pleased moan escape his throat.

“I don’t want to stop you, it’s just exciting to be the one driving you crazy for once,” Quentin says before he locks their lips together again.

Eliot laughs against Quentin’s lips, revelling in the taste of him as Quentin licks into his mouth, his husband's hands working down his body. One squeezing at his ass while the other wraps around his cock. “Fuck Q,” Eliot gasps out against Quentin’s lips as he bucks forward into his fist. Quentin just hums and bites at his collarbone. There’s a moment of awful nothing while Q does the cleaning spell, then conjures lube. 

Then they’re kissing again and Eliot’s hands claw at Q’s back as he gently circles a finger around his tight hole.”Relax El, I’ve got you,” Quentin murmurs, planting soft kisses down Eliot’s neck as he slowly pushes in up to the first knuckle. 

Eliot laughs, the role reversal is amusing -- and obviously crazy hot -- normally Eiot’s the one soothing, preparing, gentling his husband with soft pleasure until he’s begging for more. It suddenly strikes Eliot how unfair all his teasing has been. Despite the slight pain and the weird sensation of first being opened up after a long time Eliot can’t fucking wait to be fucked. He moans loudly and pushes back onto Quentin’s finger, wrapping a hand in Quentin’s wet hair and tugging. “Fucking fuck me, Q.”

Quentin chuckles and gently pulls his finger out, replacing it with two which he curls around searching, searching,  _ oh fuck _ . Eliot bucks up with another moan. “Come on El, you’ll enjoy it if you’re patient.” Q says with a wicked glint in his eye.

“I-- oh my god -- plenty -- fuck -- patient,” Eliot manages to gasp out, barely restraining his hips from bucking wildly. Quentin doesn’t stop crooking his fingers to rub against that bundle of nerves that’s driving Eliot crazy as he ducks his head down and, without warning, takes the whole of Eliot’s cock into his mouth. He makes a pleased little moan when Eliot bucks into his throat, then pulls off to swirl his tongue around the head -- then again he ducks down and deepthroats him, all while insistently rubbing his prostate. “Fuck Q, you’re -- oh -- fucking -- unf -- incorrigible” Quentin laughs against his dick which almost sends Eliot over the edge. He tugs sharply on Quentin’s hair, “Q, stop.” 

Immediately Quentin pulls away, looking up at his husband quizzically, “You okay?” he asks with soft concern in his voice.

With a laugh Eliot gasps out, “Yeah Q, I’m -- I know I”ve told you this hundreds of times, but you are so good in bed, it’s honestly a bit of a threat. If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to come before you get to.”

Quentin kisses him softly on the lips; it feels almost chaste for how vulgar their last kiss was. Eliot can just taste the faint hint of his own seed on Q’s lips. “Come on then,” Quentin says softly as he pulls away. Quentin positions himself so Eliot’s legs are resting on his shoulders. “You sure you’re ready?” he asks when he’s lined up, his perfect brown eyes flicking up to Eliot’s face. 

“More than.” Then there’s a pressure that half makes Eliot want to squirm away, were it not for the steady gaze of his husband’s eyes and the gentle noises of pleasure he’s making as he enters Eliot. There’s a moment of discomfort where his body tenses up at the intrusion. Quentin reaches for his hand, his breath coming in stuttering little gasps and his legs shaking as he tries to stay still. Eliot breathes for a moment, then he feels the release, the moment his body decides to let Q in. “Fuck Q, come on” He gasps out, his hand reaching for the back of Quentin’s neck in a failed attempt to drag him into a kiss. Slowly Quentin presses the rest of the way in, until Eliot can feel their bodies flush together and he feels so, so goddamn full. Quentin’s smiling at him, his eyes wide and blissed out. “How’s that feel, baby?” 

Quentin leans in and draws him into a deep kiss rather than answering, his hips moving in rhythmic little circles so his cock dances across Eliot’s prostate with each thrust. Within moments they’re going too hard to maintain the kiss, but they stay like that, faces pressed to each other. The contortion is making Eliot’s leg’s burn, and he knows that he’s going to be in pain tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. He just somehow wants Q to be impossibly closer. Eliot can taste Quentin’s sweat on his lips when he dives forward for quick dirty kisses, can hear Quentin’s grunts and moans mixing with his own punched out gasps of pleasure. 

“Fuck Q, I’m gonna come, I’m so sorry, fuck,” Eliot gasps out, everything is suddenly too much and not enough, his hands are running down Quentin’s back, his nails likely leaving marks , but Quentin is just moaning at every touch Eliot gives him, going impossibly harder. 

“Come for me El,” he says in between gasps of air, slipping his hand down between them and wrapping it around Eliot’s cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts. Eliot can tell by the shift that Q’s close too, chasing his own pleasure. He lifts himself up, feeling his abs complain but not caring, to wrap a hand in Quentin’s hair and tug him into a deep kiss. They both come, kissing and breathing into each other’s mouths.  _ Fuck _ . 

When Quentin rolls off him, he’s laughing. Eliot does the spell to clean away the sticky mess of cum and lube then tugs Quentin into his chest. He kisses the top of his head. “We should do that way more often.” 

  
  



End file.
